Suzy Run Around
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: A gold digger decides Napoleon is fair game. Problem is she hasn't met the wife yet.


Madeline flopped down on the loveseat, holding her hands away from everything, her fingers spread wide. "Don't even ha e enough left in my account for a proper manicure and pedicure. It's a sad, sad day when a girl has to do her own nails." At the lack of a response from her roommate, she glanced over. Suzanne was studying a magazine, her brow furrowed in thought. "You'll get wrinkles doing that."

Wrinkles was a wake-up call and Suzanne sat back. "What? I heard the word wrinkles."

"Yeah, girl, your forehead. What are you reading that's worth a creasy forehead?"

Suzanne ran a hand over her skin, flattening it. "Forbes 500."

"You, too, huh? I gave mine an ultimatum and he picked his wife." She blew on her nails. "Dick wad. What's the world coming to when the husband prefers his wife's company over mine? What about yours?"

"Bastard wanted a prenup. Like I was going to sit still for that." Suzanne sighed and pushed back a strand of dark hair. "And he seemed like such an idiot when I let him pick me up in that bar." She turned a page. "Who would have thought he'd have that much on the ball?"

"Hey, it was good while it lasted and you can always pawn the jewelry he gave you. That ring must be worth a chunk."

Suzanne held her hand out, admiring how the diamond caught the light and sparkled. "Yeah, but before that I need to find another patsy…." She returned to the magazine and her eyes widened. "What the hell?"

"What?"

"Did you know there's a multi-millionaire in Jackson?"

"Our Jackson or Mississippi's Jackson?"

Suzanne checked. "Ours. And he's not married. Says here, widowed."

"Ooo, that's even better. It means he's broken in."

"According to this, he's from New York, initially. I think I'll make some calls."

"I think that's a very good idea. Anyone worth that much has to be hiding from something."

Napoleon settled the last begonia in place and sat back on his heels to survey the bed of flowers. He could well afford a gardener to look after Vinea's flowerbeds, but he liked getting his hands dirty now and again. He brushed the dirt from his palms and stood with a soft grunt.

"Mother Nature is a harsh mistress," he said to the plants. He reached for the hose and turned it to a gentle spray. "You are lucky to have me as your guardian. I will take care of you."

"Talking to the flowers again, Mr. S?" Rocky dropped a bag of wood chips at Napoleon's feet and ripped it open with his spade.

"There's scientific proof that plants do better when you talk to them. Illya says it's the extra carbon dioxide in our breath, but I think they just like the attention. I mean, who doesn't like attention?"

"Besides Chef, you mean? According to him, there's a scientific reason for everything." Rocky pushed the spade into the chips and began to spread them.

"Speaking of such, where is the little… devil?"

"Last I saw, he was in the kitchen arguing about an egg delivery. Said the eggs were too old to be used."

"I pity the distributor. Never get between that man and his ingredients."

"That's the truth." Rocky paused and looked around the parking lot. "Everything is looking really nice this year, boss."

Napoleon smiled and nodded. "It didn't hurt to have all that rain this spring. Now if we can only have a mild summer…"

"Here's hoping. After this, what's next?"

Napoleon glanced around at his handiwork. All the beds in front of Taste and Vinea sported new flowers and wood chips. The smell of fresh red wood was intoxicating. "I think a long hot bath and a nap, not necessarily in that order." He clapped Rocky on the shoulder. "Thank you so much for your help, Rocky. I couldn't have gotten it done without it."

"Well, I should actually thank you. When Mattie gets like this, it's better to steer a wide path."

"What's going on?"

"Chef told him it was time to broaden his duties and asked him to develop a new summer menu and Mattie is sweating bricks over it. You know how he gets when he's nervous or anxious."

"Why? He's as good in every aspect as Illya."

"I know it and you know it. I don't think he does."

"Then you should go home and make him know it."

"Get between the man and his cookbooks? Are you out of your mind?"

"Woo him, Old Son," Napoleon said softly. "Make him realize that he's your world."

"You have a velvet tongue, Mr. S."

"And I know how to use it." Napoleon took an exaggerated sniff. "But after the bath… And possibly the nap. I'm not as young as I used to be." Napoleon glanced over as Illya marched out of the kitchen and headed for their little house. "But I'm not as old as I'm going to be, either. Have a good afternoon, Rocky."

"Suzy Q, you still there?" The voice on the phone was a bit whiney and got on Suzanne's nerves, but when you wanted to know something about someone, Linda was the place to start. "You said this joker's name was Solo?"

"Yeah, first name Napoleon. Got anything on him?"

Linda looked down at her notes. She'd given up trying to arrange them in any order. "You got an hour?"

Suzanne frowned, then instantly caught herself. She applied some lotion to her forehead and massaged it in. "Whacha mean?"

"This guy has more stories than the public library! He worked for some import/export company in New York. Did okay for himself, then his aunt died and left her considerable estate to him which he turned out and tripled. He's also done it with nearlyt every woman in Manhattan and then some."

That made Suzanne stop in her tracks. "You are kidding?"

"Not likely that there's two guys with that name. He's left a string of broken hearts from here to the moon. Lots of women have tried, but no one caught him."

"Then I'm just the girl for the job."

"Listen, honey, there's something you need to know." But Suzanne had already hung up. Linda looked down at the dead receiver and made a face. "Guess she'll have to find out for herself."

Illya wrapped his hands around the soggy bread and squeezed, stopping just short of making it spurt through his fingers. The young artichokes, their hard outer leaves peeled away and the softer leaves spread outward like roses, awaited their stuffing. They sat in a quiche dish, cozy, but not squashed together like commuters on a subway, their leaves glistening after a generous bath of olive oil.

Illya dumped the bread into a bowl with parsley, garlic, salt and pepper and mashed them all together until he was satisfied. He drained the oil from the artichokes by tipping them over into a bowl. By the time he reached the fourth one, the first one was ready to be uprighted again. That accomplished, he pushed the bowl with the leftover oil aside.

Illya scooped up a handful of the seasoned bread and started cramming it into the first artichoke. He made sure every bit of the artichoke was full of stuffing before moving to the next. He smoothed out the surface and returned it to its pan. Illya repeated the action until he was out of stuffing. Then he drizzled the artichoke with leftover oil and slipped them into the oven.

Two arms snaked around his waist and for the briefest of seconds, Illya entertained the thought of pulling away, but he wasn't a fool. Instead, he leaned back into the embrace. "Mmm, you smell good."

"Better than ten minutes ago." Napoleon nuzzled Illya's hair, his own personal aphrodisiac. It was a combination of shampoo, just a hint of garlic and the rest pure Illya. "Are you terribly busy?"

"Not necessarily. I was just making you dinner. How does Stuffed Artichokes Nicois sound?" Illya turned in Napoleon's arms to face him.

"Almost as tasty as you. Can you take a break?"

"These have to bake for seventy five minutes, although they should be basted along the way." Napoleon was busy licking the base of Illya's throat, sucking at the soft skin there. "This is nice, but could we take it out of the kitchen?"

"I thought we'd settled that argument a long time ago."

For years, Illya had forbidden any sort of romantic actions in the kitchen. His thought was that if Napoleon left him again, he wanted to have some place he could go and not be reminded of the man. He returned to Illya's neck, nibbling and nipping gently.

"It's not that." Illya pushed him gently but firmly away. "My back has seen its last bout of table sex."

"I can understand that, but it's going to be hard to walk very far with this." Napoleon looked down at his very engorged penis. "It's even drooling in anticipation. Have you no pity?"

Illya smiled then and began to kneel. "Well, perhaps a little. And I should stay close to the oven for basting purposes." He wet his lips and Napoleon sighed happily as his penis was enveloped in a robe of wet heat.

Suzanne feel back against the sofa cushions and thought about her attack plan. Usually she would just sashay in and use her considerable charms to lure a man into her web. However, this Solo guy required more finesse.

"You are frowning again, sugar. I'm going to have to take an iron to your forehead." Madeline tsked her tongue and reached for the next item of clothing. She didn't mind pressing their clothes, but she also didn't want it as a full-time job either. "You get to iron the next batch."

"I pay you for it. And not every guy likes them smooth."

"You show me a wrinkly millionaire heiress and I will be the first to agree with you, honey." The iron glided down the fabric easily. "What are you frowning about now?"

"This Napoleon guy has a date record worthy of Hugh Hefner."

"And he's just been married the once?"

"Uh huh."

"That's weird. Even Hefner's taken the plunge more than once. What wrong with this guy?"

"According to all his ex-girlfriends, nothing. He's good in the sack and generous to a fault, but he never got caught. They all said that same thing. There was something missing. No matter how hard they felt, he never seemed to be the same way. A real love 'em and leave 'em sort of guy. Then they said something happened. His aunt died, the one who bankrolled him and left him her fortune. Suddenly, he shut down and disappeared."

"Only to reappear in Jackson? I can't imagine anyone going there on purpose."

"Unless they were hiding from something or someone. His employment history is pretty dicey."

"So when are you taking a road trip?"

"You got plans for the weekend?"

"Me?"

"I have a feeling it's going to take two of us to catch this fish."

Napoleon heard the timeer on the stove and glanced to his side. Illya murmured something and rolled over, still asleep.

With a silent groan, Napoleon managed to get up off the floor and walked into the kitchen. First thing he did was silence the timer and then he reached for an apron, folding it over and tying it in place. He'd learned quickly that it was unwise to open an oven door naked.

Grabbing some oven mitts, he cracked opened the oven and stepped back to let the first blast of heat escape. After that, he opened the door fully and removed the artichokes. They were golden brown and smelled heavenly. It was all he could do to keep from biting into one of them instantly. However, that way led to a burned mouth and tongue and that wouldn't do at all. He set them on a cooling rack, turned off the oven and returned to the living room.

Illya was sitting up and stretching as he entered.

"I thought I'd grabbed it in time." Napoleon removed the apron and draped it over a dining room chair. He glanced down and then grinned. The tip of Illya's penis peeked out from beneath the afghan. "Or perhaps I grabbed the wrong thing entirely."

"Each in his own time." Illya stood up and rolled his shoulders. "If we are going to continue, I'm opting for the bed."

"It sounds good to me." He gave Illya a long lingering kiss. "I'll race you."

"Reminds me of a joke," Illya murmured.

"A joke?" Napoleon pulled away and walked towards the staircase.

"My father's favorite. A young bull and an old bull were looking down upon a field of cows. The young one says to the old one, 'Let's run down there and have sex with a cow.' The old one just nodded and replied, 'Let's walk and have all of them.' Illya stopped and cocked his head. "It took me a long time to figure that one out."

"Slow and steady wins it every time." Napoleon stepped aside and let Illya proceed him.

"Thanks."

"No trouble. I love the view from this angle."

Madeline eased up on the gas. "Okay, I see the turn ahead."

"Take a right and it will bring us right into Jackson." Suzanne paused to look up from the map. "Not much up here, is there?"

"Just farms and wineries, for all I know. Did you get reservations?" Madeline scooped a handful of hair from her face and reseated her sunglasses. She slowed to take the turn, then stepped on the accelerator.

"Some place called The National. Cost the earth. I hope one of us rolls this guy fast. My debt is building up." Suzanne stared out at the rolling hills. "Looks it's already turning yellow up here. Summer hasn't even started yet and this place looks dead."

"I have a feeling its dead here even when there's enough rain." Madeline stomped on the brake at a sharp turn and made a rude noise. "Look at this place. Three buildings and a motel."

"Dry Town. Population 127." Susanne read the green sign aloud. "Oh my god… what a dump! Can't you go any faster?"

"Trust me, I want out of here as badly as you do." Madeline stomped on the gas the minute she cleared the last turn. "Okay, it should be a straight shot to Jackson now."

"We need to make an agreement," Suzanne said, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"There has to be some reason why no one has caught this guy, so here's the deal. If you snag him, we'll split fifty-fifty."

"What's in it for me if you do?"

"Same deal. With as much money as this guy has, we can both live on Easy Street for the next couple of decades. By then, he'll be dead and we will be as free as a bird. Deal?"

Madeline thought about it for three seconds, then nodded. "Deal. Either way, we win."

"Napoleon Solo, here we come."

Napoleon woke slowly, unwilling to let go of the luxurious sense of floating. He was sated, body and soul. He cracked open an eye and looked to his left. Illya was still asleep, his hair askew, his face looking impossibly young, even though Napoleon knew it to be a lie. His partner was just few months younger than he was. For just a moment, they were in their thirties again, exhausted from chasing who-knew-who over who-knew-what. He didn't remember the assignments these days, but he did remember the sex.

"You're smiling," Illya mumbled into his pillow. It didn't surprise Napoleon that Illya was awake. They were often like that, so synced that they shared actions.

"I was thinking of you." He got his other eye open. "How could I not smile?"

"Mmm, nice." Illya rolled over and slowly sat up, stretching. Napoleon knew without asking that he was headed for Taste. "Will I see you in the restaurant tonight?"

"I'll probably come over for some dessert, providing I can move after those artichokes." Napoleon watched Illya reach for his underwear, then his work pants. He got the pants on and sat down to put on his shirt. Napoleon caught Illya's hand and tugged him down. Off balance, Illya flopped back on the bed.

"I need to get to work, Napoleon. One of us has to support the cats," he protested weakly.

"What can I say? I'm wild about a man in checkered pants." Napoleon gave him a kiss.

"My heart bleeds for you then." Illya caressed Napoleon's face with a gentle hand, then pulled free. "Speaking of such, no treats for Moutard tonight. He's getting fat."

Napoleon patted his own stomach, no longer the trim one of his youth. "That makes two of us. It would be easier if you weren't such a good cook."

"I'll try to remember to burn something for you." He swooped in for one last kiss before pulling his chef's jacket on and heading for the bathroom.

Suzanne dropped her suitcase onto a rickety-looking chair and made a face. "It smells funny in here."

"My mom used to call it rising damp."

"We're on the third floor."

"Hey, I'm just saying what she said." Madeline made a beeline for the bathroom. "At least the plumbing is modern. From the outside, I wasn't so sure we wouldn't be crapping in a bucket."

"Madeline!"

"Sorry, it's just this place. I hope this guy is worth it."

"It says he owns a wine place just about a block from here."

"What? In Sutter Creek?" Suzanne lobbed a decorative pillow at her friend and Madeline caught it easily. "I mean, this place isn't big enough for a block, is it?"

"At least they say there's a very nice restaurant next door to it. I had the desk clerk make reservations for us."

"What? More expenses? Can we do that?"

"A rich guy isn't going to eat his own cooking. Besides, this place is supposedly to die for."

"Let's just hope we don't. I need a solid infusion of cash soon." She looked at the shimmering jewel on her finger. "It's going to be him or saying goodbye to little Tiffany here."

"You want the shower first?"

"Nope, I'm going to get a little shut-eye before dinner. Sleep will do more good than pancaking on the makeup."

"Good advice."

There was a good crowd at the restaurant tonight. Illya pulled on a clean chef's coat and squared his shoulders. He didn't care much for mingling, but his clientele had come to rely upon him putting in at least one appearance a night. It also gave him a chance to take a break from his staff and give everyone a much needed chance to breathe.

The stress had come to a head last year. Matt was having migraine after migraine and Illya was beginning to crack under the stress. When Napoleon found him in the bathroom, crying from the sheer burden of the restaurant, they knew something had to be done.

The suggestions of returning a star to Micheline started as a joke, but the more Illya and Matt talked about it, the more they started to warm to the idea. Without the constant pressure of having to maintain certain guidelines that were required, they could fall back to doing what they loved the most – creative cooking.

The people at Micheline didn't quite know what to do with them and some even protested the move, but once they'd made up their mind, it was over. To lose a star was one thing, to return one was a whole new ball of wax. No one knew how the public would react, but it certainly caused a ripple through the culinary world.

Oddly enough, their patronage increased threefold. Illya had been afraid that people would stay away, but it had worked just the opposite. While it was true they didn't get the upper crust of the dining world as much, more regular people stopped in, convinced that the prices were cheaper. They really weren't because Illya kept costs cut to the bone while still providing the very best in local offerings. It was all about appearance and since they'd, in effect, tossed off their tie and shoes, Taste had reestablished itself as fun place to work and dine.

Illya stepped from the kitchen into the restaurant and smiled at the sound of murmuring conversation. It was a contrast from the noise of the kitchen. He'd avoided the whole 'noise equals excitement' theory. He and Matt had strived to make Taste a comfortable place where people could come and dine upon exceptional food and just talk with each other. Because of that, they had soundproofed the kitchen and taken up precious floor space by creating a small anteroom for the pass through. That way, the guests was never bothered by the conversation between the kitchen and the waiters or the din of five people cooking together in a small space. All the guests heard was softly playing instrumentals and the sound of their dining partner's voice.

He began to stop at tables, inquiring about this entrée or that, explaining his techniques to those who asked and answering a multitude of questions, many of them duplicates to those he'd answered a dozen times before. If anything, his time with THRUSH had taught him consistency. Illya lingered a bit longer at the tables where he knew one or more of the guests. Many of them were repeat customers and Illya went out of his way to make them know how appreciated they were.

He caught the attention of one of his waiters. "James, would you see that table five gets a plate of complimentary truffles with their dessert tonight?"

"Of course, Chef." He started to move away and Illya touched his arm.

"Has Mr. Solo been in yet?"

"I thought I saw him in the bar at his usual spot, Chef, but he wasn't there when I went in there just now. I suspect he headed home. He looked a little tired."

"He had a big day in the garden. Thank you." Illya refrained mentioning that Napoleon had had a much bigger afternoon in the bedroom. That would be their little secret.

Illya moved from the restaurant to the bar area. It was also specially designed to lessen any noise leakage to the dining room. There were several people at the bar and three of their five tables were occupied. There were some new faces and that always made Illya happy.

He walked up to the bar and Celeste had a bottle of chilled water waiting for him. She poured it over some crush ice and passed it to him as he leaned against the polished wood of the bar. "Busy night, Chef?"

"Not too bad. I wasn't expecting a run on the Cornish hens tonight, but we will squeak by."

Estelle placed a tray of small glasses on the table. "I have to say that the aperitifs are doing well tonight. Maybe it's the Negroni that's making the different. It's meant to be paired with poultry."

Illya sampled one of the drinks, letting a bit of the Campari linger in his mouth. "This is very good. Where did you find the recipe?" He handed the glass back and it vanished behind the bar.

"Secondhand bookstore," Celeste answered for her twin. "You would not believe some of the gems we've found."

"Well, keep it up, you two. It's always a comfort to know there is one thing I never have to worry about with the restaurant."

Two women entered the restaurant and Roxanne approached them, menus in her arms. While the waiters wore tuxes, most of their clientele wore more casual dress, but these two were dressed to the nines. Apparently, they were prepared to meet the Queen. The blonde had her hair piled high and her throat glimmered with brilliant stones.

"Costume?" Celeste asked and Illya shook his head.

"If they are, they are good ones." The redhead's hair was looser, but her dress made up for it. Illya swore he could count her ribs.

Roxanne shook her head in apparent answer to a question and the two walked into the bar. After looking around for a moment, they came up to the bar and managed to wiggle their way onto the barstools at the far end, closest to the entrance. Illya refrained from pointing out that chairs would probably have worked better. He returned to his water.

"May I help you, ma'am?" Celeste placed Taste coasters down in front of them.

They exchanged looks and the blonde said, "What do you have that's strong and cheap?"

"Besides her perfume, you mean?" Estelle murmured to Illya and he smirked. Even from here, it came off her in waves.

"Nice, I suppose, if you like the type," he answered and got to his feet. "Well, it's back to the grind. Thanks for the water."

"Anytime, Chef."

Illya started to walk past them and a talon-tipped hand lashed out and grabbed his arm. "Hey, buddy, do you work here?"

"In a manner of speaking." Illya expected a question about the menu or wine selection.

A snapshot was shoved in front of his face and Illya winced at the subject as the woman asked, "Good. You seen this guy in here tonight? Rumor is he likes to eat here."

"That's a terrible photograph of Napoleon." He handed it back to her and removed his arm from her grasp.

"You mean, he's even better looking in person?"

"I think so, but I'm partial."

"Hey, Suzy, we came to the right place. So, spill, what's he like?"

"Do you mean his preferences or overall condition?" Illya was starting to form a bad opinion of this woman and he wondered if her companion was from the same cut of cloth. He'd seen plenty of these in his time in New York.

"Duh, what is he like?"

"He's patient and kind. He likes to slow dance in the kitchen to Big Band music. He prefer his martinis dry, his steak rare, and his wine full bodied."

"Not like that. I mean, for women. Does he like redheads or blondes?"

"Definitely blonds," Celeste answered, placing their drinks down in front of them. She winked at Illya.

"Damn it," Madeline snapped. "You have all the luck, Suzy. He's all yours."

"Hey, a promise is a promise," she murmured. "Whatever I get from him, we'll split."

Illya heard the remark and started to respond, but Celeste beat him to the punch. "How well do you know Mr. Solo?"

"Just what I've read, sweetheart. Enough to know he's loaded and free."

"Must have been an old magazine then because he's married."

"What? Of all the lowdown underhanded tricks to play on a girl!"

"So he's married." Madeline took a sip of her drink. "Marriages get old and cold. Maybe he's ready for a little bit of action on the side."

For just an instant, the image of Napoleon and that woman, together, and Illya's world was over. It had taken him years to recover from the pain and humiliation of betrayal and reinvent himself. This time Illya didn't wait. "I can assure you that he's quite happily married."

"Yeah, maybe that's what he'd telling people, but my friend in New York said he's quite the player."

"Not anymore."

"And how would you know that?"

Illya snapped his fingers and Rocky magically appeared. "Escort these two women from the restaurant."

"You got it, Chef."

The redhead protested. "You can't do that. We have a reservation and our money's as good as anyone else!"

Illya pointed to a sign_ \- We reserve the right to refuse to serve anyone_. "Or shall I call the police? The chief is a good friend of mine."

"This isn't over." Suzanne managed to get off her stool.

"Oh, I suspect it is. Rocky, if you will?"

"No trouble at all." Rocky gestured towards the front of the restaurant. "Ladies?"

Napoleon looked up at the noise and realized that someone had entered the house through the kitchen. He knew that someone could only be Illya. No one else would dare risk it. Still, an uneasy twist in his stomach made him get to his feet and walk slowly to the desk. There was a pistol inside the top drawer and he was inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.

"Napoleon?" His partner's voice stayed his step and his hand.

"Living room," he answered back. He switched course towards the kitchen, meeting Illya as he came through the swing door. "You're home ea-" Illya's kiss caught him off guard and, for a moment, the intensity of it worried Napoleon just a bit. He studied Illya's face as they pulled apart. "Are you okay?"

"Tell me you love me."

Without hesitation, Napoleon answered, "I love you."

"Tell me you will never leave me."

"Never. I swear."

And with that, Illya was gone. Napoleon remained standing there, more than a little puzzled and confused. After a moment, he went to the phone and dialed a number.

"Kitchen. Matt speaking."

"Matthew, my boy, is everything okay over there?"

"_Si, cara_. Why do you ask?"

"Illya was just here and he was acting a bit odd."

"I shall have Rocky bring you dessert, _si_?"

"What? No, I… yes, please have some dessert find its way to me."

He paced until there was a soft knock at the front door and he opened it to let the waiter in.

"Evening, Mr. S. How are you tonight?"

"More than a little confused. Is there something happening over at Taste?"

Rocky chuckled as he placed the covered dish on the small dining room table. "Oh, you could say that. We had a couple of trolls in the bar tonight."

"Trolls? What were they trolling for?"

"Not to put too fine a point on it, you. Or rather your money. Chef sent them packing… literally. I imagine they are getting their walking papers from the National as we speak."

"The boy always has had a propensity for overreacting."

"Oh, this time he had a reason for it. They weren't even shy about it."

"At least that explains it." He touched his lips in memory.

"Some things run deep," Rocky said as he uncovered the dish. "I think you'll like this. I brought you something light. Crème Brule tart."

"Tart?"

"It'll give you the energy for a long night." Rocky winked and left the room, whistling.

"I don't believe it." Madelaine threw her suitcase into the back of the car, not bothering to be quiet about it. "I've been thrown out of better places than that."

Suzanne slammed her door as hard as she could and revved the car's motor. Since it had a hole in its muffler, it roared back. "Let's get out of here."

"What are we going to do, Suzy?"

"I don't know just yet, but I'm going to make that joker sorry he ever crossed paths with me. I know plenty of folks who will take notice of what I have to say."

"As long as we never have to come here again, I'm right there with you."

Weeks passed and spring rolled slowly into the hot dry days of summer. Napoleon had a watering system installed, so the flowers he planted were spared the searing death that so many other flowers suffered. The vineyards were splashes of green against the yellowed grass and black of the oak trees. Napoleon looked over the rolling hills behind their house and sighed happily. If someone had told him ten years ago that he'd be sitting on a porch, admiring the scenery of a tiny town in the Sierras, he would have laughed. Now, he couldn't imagine anywhere else he wanted to be.

He took a sip of the ice cold chardonnay and let it warm gently in his mouth. The flavors bloomed, a reward for taking a moment to cherish them.

The sun slipped behind the hill and the sky warmed into gentle pinks and purples. A squeaky floorboard behind him announced Illya's approach and he set a tray of fruit and down on a small table. That made Napoleon sit up and study the offerings. An enticingly luscious looking wedge of brie called to him. He prepared a slice upon a cracker and topping with some tiny champagne grapes and passed it to Illya.

"Try that with the chardonnay." He waited for Illya's answering smile before preparing another for himself. Illya took a long swallow of wine and settled back into an Adirondack chair. When he didn't say anything even after Napoleon had made short work of his cheese and cracker, Napoleon ventured, "What's wrong, Illya?"

"I just got off the phone with the food critic down in Sacramento. Apparently one of our diners found a cockroach in their entrée and we refused to do anything about it."

"What?" That made Napoleon sit bolt upright. "What happened?"

"It took me a while, but we finally narrowed the date and time to when those two gold diggers were in the restaurant."

"But you didn't serve them."

"Exactly, but one of them, a Miss Suzanne Franco, claimed she found a cockroach in her lamb stew."

"You haven't served that for a year."

"Apparently, she got hold of an old menu. Then she claimed the wine you picked was swill… well, our sommelier, actually. It was the worst white wine she's ever tasted."

"A white wine? With lamb? Perish the thought."

"And it was French and we insisted she pay for it, even though it was horrible."

"I don't -."

"It gets worse. Then I had a call from the food editor from The New York Times. She contacted him saying she was the reason we lost a star."

"You surrendered one."

"And everyone in the business knows that. Hence the call. I'd just gotten finished with her and there was a knock at the door."

"I shudder to ask."

"It was Tamara."

"The E-I-C from the Ledger Dispatch?"

"Yeah, apparently I'm having an affair with your wife."

"Um…. Might I point out-?"

Illya shook his head once slowly. "I'm not the wife."

"But it would explain what you are doing all that time alone in the bathroom. Am I going to have to threaten your right hand with legal action?"

Illya stared at him for a moment and started to laugh. After a moment, Napoleon joined him. He refilled their glasses and raised his in a toast. "To Gold Diggers everywhere. So what are you going to do?"

Illya returned the toast and set his glass back down. "Already have. I called Joe and slapped her with a 'cease and desist or I'd sue you for libel and slander' order. Then promised that I'd take out full page ads in every paper in every big city in the country warning people about her."

"You wouldn't…"

"You know that and I know that, but they don't know that." Illya touched the side of his nose. "No one messes with my stuff."

"I'm stuff?" Napoleon smiled at that.

Illya pushed out of his chair and straddled Napoleon. "You are the best stuff of all." He leaned forward for a long kiss. "So you want to go upstairs and cheat on your wife a bit?"

"Only if you promise we won't get caught. I couldn't stand the humiliation of being accused of sleeping with the love of my life with the love of my life." When Illya didn't move, Napoleon said, "You have to get up first."

"I was just thinking." Slowly Illya dismounted. "What did I do to deserve you?"

Now Napoleon truly laughed. "You, _Amante_ are you. You are quick tempered, stubborn, too smart for your own good, and those are your good points. And that's enough for me. I got a second chance and I'm never losing sight of you again." He stood. "Now before the wine gets warm and the brie gets cold, let's go shake some dust from the rafters."

"Why, Mr. Solo, what are you suggesting?" Illya batted his eyelashes at Napoleon. That never failed to make Napoleon laugh.

He took Illya's hand, knowing that neither of them would make it any farther than the living room. "C'mon, sweetheart, let's go inside. I never pitch my woo in public."

"Woo?"

"Woo hoo and view halloo."


End file.
